


Christmas

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Holiday: xmas, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 02:10:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/792850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim suffers a humiliation at Simon's hands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> There is a contingent in this fandom that likes to shriek at authors who dare show Blair enjoying Christmas. To you I say, buy yourselves a life or go shriek at each other. My writing does not revolve around your neuroses and there will be no cringing apologies. Blair is not Jewish in my universe and I doubt he is in the TS one, either. If you read despite this note, you have no one to blame but yourself. Ho ho ho.

## Christmas

by Texas Ranger

Author's disclaimer: If I owned them, there would have been no Mary Sues and Jim and Blair would have jumped in bed by the second season. As it is, they're not mine and I've given up on those who do own them. If you choose to sue, I have a nice pair of buttocks to which you can apply your lips. Tis the season.

* * *

"Oh come on, Jim, don't be such a Scrooge." 

Jim stopped scowling at the computer and started scowling at Blair. "Sandburg, you are not going to decorate my desk with light-up reindeer and that's final." 

Blair was undaunted by his lover's lack of Christmas cheer. He tucked the string of reindeer back in his bag and came up with something else. "Okay, how about this?" He set the plastic Santa figure in front of Jim and pushed a button. Santa spun around on his base and sang "Jingle Bell Rock". 

Jim's scowl deepened. "What is this, a trailer park? Did I miss the sign that says 'Cascade Police: Redneck Unit'? What's next, a velvet painting of Elvis?" 

Blair rolled his eyes. "Jim, it's the week before Christmas. You, know, holiday cheer? Peace on Earth, goodwill towards men? Snoopy and the Red Baron toasting each other?" 

Jim opened his mouth to tell Blair what Snoopy and the Red Baron could do with each other, but he was cut off at the pass by a booming, friendly voice. 

"Jim, Blair, can I see you in my office?" Simon Banks called. 

Jim raised his eyebrows. "He's being booming and friendly. That means he's about to ask us to do something I'll hate." 

"I'll watch your back if you'll watch mine," Blair offered. 

As one, the men rose and Bataan Death marched into the office. 

"Gentlemen! Have a seat." Simon waved his hand and offered them each a cup of coffee. 

Blair eyed it warily. "It's his best Raspberry Mocha blend. This must be serious." 

Simon smiled expansively. "I have some great news for you. You can have this Friday off." 

Jim's eyes narrowed as his Special Forces-trained instincts screamed Red Alert! "And the catch would be...?" 

" 'Catch' is such a judgemental word," Simon muttered evasively. 

"What," Blair asked, "do we have to do for this day off?" 

"Just a little favor for the mayor..." 

"Which would be?" Jim crossed his arms. 

Simon looked away. "There's this Christmas party at the Boys and Girl's Club of Cascade and-" 

"No way!" Jim shook his head so hard it was in danger of falling off. 

"Jim-" 

Jim's hand sliced through the air. "Let me put it a little differently: No _fucking_ way!" 

"Jim-" 

"Allow me to finish: no fucking way I'm dressing in some fucking nasty Santa suit and fucking-" 

"Jim-" 

"-bellowing out 'Ho ho fucking ho' to a bunch of fucking-" 

"Jim-" 

"-booger machines with wet fucking pants and runny fucking noses!" Jim finished and stood glaring at his boss. 

"Wow," Blair said admiringly, "that's got to be a new world record for most 'fucks' in one sentence." 

"Jim," Simon said in a soft, soothing tone, "you will not be playing Santa." 

"Oh no?" Jim's glare let up a little. 

"No. I will." He sighed. 

Jim and Blair exchanged glances. 

"Santa Simon?" Blair snickered. "Children nestled all snug in their beds while visions of French Roast dance in their heads?" 

"And guess who's going to play my elf?" Simon leaned back in his chair and smiled serenely. 

Blair stopped snickering. 

Jim's glare vanished. "I dunno, Chief, I think you'll look cute with little pointed ears and green tights." 

"No way!" Blair began "No fucking-" 

"Don't start that shit again." Simon pointed at Blair. "You are an elf and that's that." 

"I don't even like kids!" Blair protested. "The answer is either 'no' or 'fuck no', but either way I'm not doing it!" 

Simon nodded. "I thought you might feel that way." He held up a piece of paper and inspected it closely. "Hm. My records show that your ride-along is a few years out of date." He shook his head sadly. "It would be a shame if this came to the attention of that old lady in personnel who hates you so much." 

Blair's jaw dropped. "That-that's blackmail!" 

Simon shrugged. "No, since I'm doing it to you, it's whitemail." 

Blair looked to his partner for support. "Jim, can he do that?" 

"He's the captain. He can do anything. But what I'm concerned about is what part do I play in this? Cause there's no way I'm wearing an elf costume. No fucking-" 

"That line's getting stale. No, Jim, you will not dress as Santa Claus, you will not dress as an elf. Your main job will be to sit there and give moral support. Can you handle that, detective?" 

No elf. No Santa. Just sit around, smile at a few brats, drink some punch, give some moral support. Not to mention Friday off. Jim relaxed. There was no downside to this. 

* * *

There were three main downsides to wearing a reindeer costume, Jim found. One, it was hot. Two, it smelled like the last guy who'd worn it had had an accident in it. Three, the big red nose was something less than fashionable; in fact, it made Jim feel like the world's biggest alcoholic. 

No, this wasn't the most miserable event of Jim's life. But it was in the top two. 

It had started out okay. His mission was to make sure Sandburg didn't go AWOL from this shindig. But once he'd gotten there the whole scene went to hell in a handbasket. Simon and Blair had dragged him into the janitor's closet/dressing room and before he could say "Bah fucking humbug" he was dressed as a reindeer and shoved into a group of anklebiters screaming for Santa. 

Said anklebiters were now lined up more or less in a row, still screaming for Santa, but now accompanying themselves with foot stomps. 

Blair, dressed in his skintight elf costume, seemed to be enjoying himself, the bastard. He was grinning and bouncing, making the little jingle bell on his hat dance merrily. Jim hated him. 

Jim's only comfort came from the fact that Simon was getting it worst of all. The first kid had kicked him in the shins and it had just gone downhill from there. Jim could hardly contain his delight. 

"Ho ho ho!" Santa Simon no longer sounded so merry; in fact, he sounded like he wished all human beings under the age of 30 would suddenly fall into a hole in the Earth, never to be seen again. "What's your name, little boy?" 

"Mikey." The boy peered at him. "Never seen a black Santa before. How come you're black?" 

"Santa can be any color he wants to be." 

"How come you were white in the mall yesterday?" 

"Because I wanted to be white yesterday," Simon explained semi-patiently. "Now I want to be black. What can Santa bring you for Christmas?" 

The boy refused to be bought off. "Can you be Chinese?" 

Jim heard the small sigh. "Yes, of course." 

"Turn Chinese! I wanna see!" the boy bounced excitedly, hitting Simon's bad knee on each bounce. 

"Ow! I can't right now-ow!" 

The boy stopped bouncing. "Why not?" he pouted. 

"Because I don't have my magic racial change dust, that's why." Simon took a deep breath and patted the boy on the head. "Now, what would you like for Christmas?" 

"Can you be purple?" 

From his perch by Santa's side, Jim heard Simon grind his teeth. "Yes." 

"Yellow?" 

"Yes." 

"Orange?" 

"Who do you think I am-Dennis Rodman?" Simon set the little boy on his feet. "How about a toy truck? Yes? Good. Merry Christmas." He gave the boy a not-so-subtle push and motioned Blair to bring another. 

Blair took the next little girl by the hand and lifted her onto Santa's lap. 

"What's your name, little girl?" Simon asked, struggling valiantly to reestablish his holiday cheer. 

"Stephanie." 

"I bet I know what you want for Christmas, Stephanie. A Millenium Barbie." Simon smiled expectantly. 

The little girl glared. "No way. Barbie perpetuates the myth of female perfection. Do you know," she warmed to her subject, "that if Barbie was human she would never menstruate? My mom says-" 

"So what can Santa bring you? A copy of The Feminine Mystique?" The strain of dealing with brats all day was wearing on Simon. 

"No, I want a skateboard." She stared up at him, challenging. 

Simon nodded. "Sure, Santa can bring you a skateboard. Skateboards go really, really fast, don't they?" 

The little girl wiggled. "They sure do!" 

"Good. Merry Christmas." Push. 

Jim watched the line get shorter and shorter, along with Simon's temper. 

Hm...should he? After all, Simon had done so much for him. 

Which had all been negated by this smelly reindeer costume. 

Grinning for the first time today, Jim pulled his hand into the costume, reached into his shirt pocket, brought out his cel phone, and started dialling. 

* * *

"The last one," Simon sighed as the final child went off in search of another victim. "Jesus, I don't know why he's screaming. He bit me, not the other way around. Jim, are you sure that kid didn't look rabid to you?" 

"Hard to tell about those things, Captain," Jim said ominously. "I mean, one day you're fine and the next you're foaming at the mouth and biting the neighbors." 

"Bite my-" 

"Hey, Simon," Blair called, "looks like we have some stragglers. Heads up." 

Blair disappears and returned holding two hands. "You just made it, boys. Now come on up." 

Santa Simon's mouth dropped. 

"Tell Santa your names," Jim urged. 

"Henri," said the first. 

"Rafe," said the second. 

"Why don't you sit on Santa's lap and tell him what you want for Christmas?" Blair blinked innocently. 

"Why don't you not." Simon started to get up, but the detectives rushed up and plunked onto his lap, one on one knee, one on the other. 

"I want a new Beretta, a grey Armani suit, and a car like Don Johnson drove in Miami Vice." 

"I want a raise, but I know I won't get one 'cause my boss is a turd." 

Simon looked helplessly at his best detective. "Jim...help..." 

Jim cocked his head to one side. "Don't look now, Santa, but you have one more coming." 

Joel walked into the room with a big smile on his face. He descended on Santa Simon. 

"Jim..." 

Jim took his elf by the hand and walked out on the pleading voice of his captain. Revenge was a dish best served cold, and right now Simon was freezing. 

* * *

"Did you see the look on his face?" 

Jim poured the last of the bottle into their glasses and snickered. They'd killed two bottles of wine and they were both warm and giggly. 

"You know," Jim said, setting the empty bottle down unsteadily, "I still haven't paid you back for tricking me into the reindeer suit." 

Blair's eyes widened. "It was Simon's idea!" 

Jim advanced on his lover. "Betrayed by my own Guide." He leapt, landing astraddle Blair. He ran his finger down the pug nose. "What should I do with you?" 

"Rip off my clothes and make love to me by the flickering lights of the tree?" Blair suggested hopefully. 

"That'll do for now. " Jim lowered himself on top of Blair. "But you'd better watch your back come New Year's Eve." 

The End 


End file.
